


Mr. Teeth

by levendis



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, oldfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the TARDIS is designed to facilitate one-night-stands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Teeth

  
She'd asked for a bar. Like in Star Wars, she'd said, all aliens and jaunty music and cocktails named after supernovas. He'd given her a disapproving look and said, "Alcohol compromises you. One moment you're enjoying a drink and discussing Martian politics and the next you've accidentally impregnated a sentient daffodil, broken five laws, and caused a temporal paradox because you're too drunk not to kiss yourself."  
  
"That was awfully specific," she'd said.  
  
"Well. Anyway. Nothing wrong with a good glass of wine but bars, bars are dangerous. How about a tea-room instead?"  
  
He really was exactly like her aunt, sometimes.  
  
  
  
Anyway, the next time he told her to Stay Put, she stopped protesting when she saw what was most likely, some things being constants in the universe, a club. The music filtering out sounded like kazoos underwater (electrified), the patrons were a cross-section of evolution united in their loudness, and the drinks had swizzle sticks. So she said, "I'll ask around, see if anyone knows anything about those rockets, right?" and he smiled, pleased as punch and slightly distracted, and bounded off.  
  
  
Two coconuts (?) filled with steaming blue stuff and a gravity-defying whatsit later, she was dancing with an absurdly handsome human with hair like he'd stepped out of a Ralph Lauren photoshoot and teeth from a toothpaste advert. He danced like an idiot, which if she was honest was part of the appeal: trying a little too hard to be cool, a sort of goofiness about him, despite the lantern jaw. He was unsubtly sliding his hands under the waistband of her skirt when she yanked his head down to hers and yelled, "DO YOU HAVE A ROOM OR SOMETHING?"  
  
Turns out he didn't have a room, but he did have a butch leather watch that could open doors (so much better than a sonic screwdriver). "You don't have any bizarre future sexual diseases, yes?" she got out in between his tongue colonizing her entire face.  
  
"It's the 37th century," he said, and flashed a dazziling grin. "No STDs, no unwanted pregnancies, and I think the nanobots I had implanted when I was in the Academy are working again."  
  
"Nanobots?" She wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten so naked so quickly.  
  
"You'll know them when you feel them," with another grin, somehow even wider this time. What a cheese-ball. She grabbed his head again, scruff of the neck, and dragged him down.  
  
"Shut up and get to it," she said. "I can't even tell you how long it's been. Literally, cannot tell you. If you don't start using that mouth for something other than corny pick-up lines in the next ten seconds-"  
  
Well. Okay then.  
  
  
  
  
The Doctor, predictably, crashed in on them forty minutes later, pretending not to know what was going on. "Pond, up you go, we have a meeting to get to," he said, skidding into the room. "I see you've. Found a friend." His expression darkened, then cleared light as a sunny day, and she wondered if she'd just imagined it. Hey, all of time and space, ancient wandering hobo, he probably knows everybody from everywhere. "I'm. Professor Dexter Hawkmere, Amy is my assistant, we have a. Teaching meeting, to get to, right now. Come on, Pond!"  
  
  
Later she'd have a talk with him about Boundaries, and knocking before entering, and how not everyone can go months without eating or fucking, and the relative urgency of things. She hadn't half tapped out Mr. Teeth's potential. "I wish I could give you my number, but my - space phone broke, so, you know." She kissed him to get across that she wasn't just brushing him off. The Doctor was making impatient noises by the door.  
  
"Trust me, I know how it is." Mr. Teeth gave her a gentle push away. "Til next time, Red. Think of me when you're taking notes for him."  
  
The Doctor, still fidgeting, blushed two heart's worth of pink. Amy raised her eyebrows, but didn't ask.  
  
  
And a year or so later, when they met again properly and Mr. Teeth slapped the Doctor in the face and then snogged him when he finally used his real(ish) name, she just said, "I figure I owe you forty or so minutes, why don't you two stay put and I'll do the investigating, okay?" and skipped off, planning what she'd say when she came back to interrupt. Turnabout, and all that.


End file.
